


dragon fish

by ectoBiololgist



Series: volume: aquatic [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Protective Wilbur Soot, Run Away, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, TommyInnit Gets a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), aunt captainpuffy!, might fuck around and redeem phil and techno, phil is a horrible father, tubbo later, wilbur soot resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectoBiololgist/pseuds/ectoBiololgist
Summary: Wilbur’s been a ghost for far too long, and now that he’s back, he’s remembering a lot. Everything that happened to L’manburg and its citizens. There’s a lot running through his head now that he’s alive and thinking for longer than 30 seconds at a time, but the first thing that keeps coming to the front of his to-do list is to tend to several wounds he may or may not have accidentally reopened upon his revival. So that’s just what he’s going to do.Tommy’s been hurt too many times to count, and he’s all but given up. He has nothing. All he has is Tubbo and those discs he doesn’t even have in his possession. Every day he’s gotten closer to giving up even if he acts like he’s improving, but when his newly revived brother returns from the ghostly realm, he has other plans for the broken teen. One of those plans involves an escape of biblical proportions.(Or, Wilbur Soot is furious at how the world has treated his brother and decides to take matters into his own hands.)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: volume: aquatic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117316
Comments: 3
Kudos: 317





	dragon fish

Wilbur hadn’t felt rage like this in a long time. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt much of really anything. Being dead really fucks with your head, but rage was the only thing he could feel overflowing every part of him as he saw the few faces standing before him while wind whistled throughout the canyon behind him under the dark sky. The clouds covered any stars that may have been twinkling above them. He clenched his fists tightly, his chocolate brown eyes flickering with an anger reminiscent of his descent into madness back in Pogtopia, but he was far from the man he had been then. Now, all he felt was unbridled rage at the man before him— the man that claimed to be his father. Worse than that, he claimed to be Tommy’s father. Behind Phil stood a few other people. Fundy, Eret, Ranboo. He couldn’t care less about any of them for the time being. Maybe he’d have words with them later. Probably, but right now he was focused on the blond man standing there with his expression aghast at the appearance of his previously dead son.

“Wil- Wilbur, you’re-“ Phil began, only to be abruptly cut off by the aforementioned man.

“Where the fuck is Tommy?” he asked, his voice harsh and cold. He may not have remembered feeling any emotions while in that ghostly state, but he remembered what happened, clear as day, and all of the emotions he would have felt, had he been alive, came flooding back in a painful wave of guilt, sadness, and most of all, anger. He’d spent all of that time just watching Tommy suffer, just like Dream had. He existed only as a monument to Tommy’s failure to save Wilbur from his spiral into insanity. All he had done was hurt his younger brother— his baby brother, and that fucking hurt like a stab to the heart.

“Wilbur you-“ Phil began again, before being cut off yet again.

“I don’t want to hear it. Where is he?” Wilbur asked, looming over his father. Eons ago he may have lightheartedly teased his father for his stature being shorter than his own colossal height, but now it only served as a reminder that Wilbur was a fully grown adult, and he was mad.

“I… don’t know,” Phil admitted, frowning slightly. Wilbur glared at Phil and turned away sharply.

“Of course you don’t,” he scoffed, patting down his sweater a bit before shouldering past Phil to go looking for his little brother, “You never did care enough about either of us,” he growled, years of built up venom in his words, and with that, he was gone, off to search for the explosive blond boy he practically raised himself.

-o-

Wilbur walked along the edge of the canyon, pebbles bouncing down to the speckled bedrock miles below. Wind howled in his ear as it dipped down into the abyss and swooped back up with every minor gust of wind. It was haunting, the way the wind sang and called his name. He couldn’t give into the siren’s song though. He had a traumatized teen to tend to and try to pick up the pieces of, if he wasn’t shattered beyond repair, that is, and every moment he was starting to fear that maybe that would be the case.

“Tommy?” he called out into the air, his voice echoing and intensifying in volume as it bounced around the canyon walls and carried back up into the air, “Tommy!” he shouted again, picking up his speed as he slid down some rocks onto a ledge further in the canyon so he could walk across the rocks toward the Prime Path that lead up to Tommy’s little dirt shack. Dirt shack. He’d never even made a full house. He was just a boy, after all.

As he clambered out of the rocky pit and onto the grass by the Prime Path, he glanced back one more time at the gathering of people at his resurrection, who seemed absorbed amongst themselves, and continued onward down the rickety wooden path his brother had helped set up for everyone on the server. All he’d wanted was to help people. All his brother had ever wanted was to make people happy and laugh, and he’d gotten tossed out like a dog in the rain, kicked to the curb for biting once or twice. It infuriated Wilbur. Once he’d passed through the dirt tunnel, he spotted a figure ahead, on a bench, and heard the sound of Chirp playing. Wilbur felt his heart twist at the memory of Tommy telling him the story of the lone astronaut named Clara. Tommy had been quite like that lone astronaut, hadn’t he? All he had was his disc and himself. Ghostbur hadn’t been much of a person. He was just a body. Barely even that.

“Tommy?” he called over to the boy on the bench, and he watched him stiffen up at his name being called, as well as likely the voice calling for him as well, “Tommy…” he said, voice softening a bit as he approached the bench slowly. As he got closer, he recognized the coat Tommy wore. It was his own, still coated in a layer of soot, with his patches on it and everything, “Oh, Tommy…” he murmured, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Wil?” Tommy asked, his voice quiet, barely a whisper.

“It’s me,” Wilbur confirmed, stepping around the bench and sitting down beside Tommy. When the boy looked at him, he could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out if this was really him, or the shell of a man the explosion had left behind, “Real me,” he confirmed gently, offering a soft smile Tommy hadn’t seen on the man since before the election. Maybe since before the beginnings of L’manburg.

At that sight, Tommy seemed to break. All the dams he’d built up to protect himself crumbled and out came an overflow of trapped emotions. First came the broken voice whimpering his name, Wil, and then the waterworks. He reached up a hand meekly, as if asking for permission for a hug before lowering it, too afraid of the possibility of him saying no. Wilbur’s expression softened and he leaned over, gathering the boy against his chest, and carding his fingers through the teen’s stiff, unclean blonde hair. He pressed the other hand firmly against his back, and rocked him gently side to side. Tommy let out a choked sob as his older brother cradled him in his arms, and he gripped the yellow sweater tightly in his bandaged hands.

“Wilbur, I-“

“Shh, I’m here now,” Wilbur quieted him, gently scratching at the boy’s scalp. Tommy sniffled, leaning into the hug and curling in on himself a bit. The way the 6’1 teenager tried to make himself appear smaller would have been comical had it not been so incredibly sad. He’d never gotten to be small, and now, for the first time in god knows how long, he felt safe enough to be small.

“You’ve been so strong, Tommy. So strong,” he mumbled into the top of the blond boy’s head, before turning his head to rest his cheek atop the blonde hair, “You’ve done so, so well. You can rest now, though. It’s alright. I’ll be here from now on. I’m not going anywhere, I promise you that,” he assured Tommy, smiling softly at the small nod that Tommy gave him, “Come now, let's go inside. You don’t need to be out here anymore,” he told him, letting go of the hug, and leaning back. Tommy looked back at Wilbur with owlishly wide eyes, “Come on. Here, get on my back,” Wilbur offered, turning to let the teen clamber onto his back and wrap his arms around his neck. He felt the circular metal of the compass Tommy wore around his neck press into his back, and smiled a bit. If nothing else, Ghostbur had at least given Tommy that compass. That was good.

As Wilbur carried his younger brother to the dirt shack, he felt Tommy set his head on Wil’s shoulder, his hair tickling his neck a little bit. He ducked under the low dirt doorway, and through the door in the back into a small, messy bedroom. Jeez. Note to self, clean up Tommy’s house soon. He needed the help. 

The older brother reached Tommy’s unmade bed and set him down on the covers, kneeling down by the bed, and reaching to tuck him in, before he felt a tug on his sweater. He looked at Tommy, confused, but realized at the furrowed brows on Tommy’s face that were easily interpreted as embarrassment, the young boy was asking for him to stay, like back when they were kids and one of them had a nightmare. The only difference was now the nightmare was the entire world, and Wilbur wasn’t sure how much of a respite he could be. Nonetheless, he of course was going to indulge his brother in the comfort he needed, and he kicked off his boots before moving to sit down on the bed. Tommy scooted over to give him room, and Wil slipped underneath the blanket before pulling the fluffy white covers over the two of them, and wrapping an arm around Tommy, holding him snugly in place. Tommy tucked his head under Wilbur’s arm, and curled into his side, letting out a gentle huff.

“Goodnight Tommy,” Wilbur spoke quietly.

“G’night Wil,” Tommy responded in kind, and with that, the two recently reunited brothers drifted off into the realm of dreams peacefully.

-o-

It’d be long until either of the two truly knew peace, but the night of Wilbur’s resurrection was a moment of respite both boys desperately needed. The familiarity of having someone who knew you better than anyone else by your side. At least they had eachother again.


End file.
